sand and ran in upon his adversary. The pistol stuck for a
moment in its hidden sling and as Swope wrenched it loose and turned
to shoot, Hardy made as if to close with him and then threw the sand
full in his face. It was only an instant's respite but as the sheepman
blinked and struck the dirt from his eyes the little cowman wheeled
and made a dash for the river. "_Look out_!" screamed Creede, as the
gun flashed out and came to a point, and like a bullfrog Hardy hurled
himself far out into the eddying water. Then like the sudden voice of
Nemesis, protesting against such treachery, a rifle shot rang out from
the towering crags that overshadowed the river and Jasper Swope fell
forward, dead. His pistol smashed against a rock and exploded, but the
man he had set himself to kill was already buried beneath the turbid
waters. So swiftly did it all happen that no two men saw the
same--some were still gazing at the body of Jasper Swope; others were
staring up at the high cliff whence the shot had come; but Jeff Creede
had eyes only for the river and when he saw Hardy's head bob up,
halfway to the whirlpool, and duck again to escape the bullets, he
leapt up and ran for his horse. Then Bill Johnson's rifle rang out
again from the summit of his high cliff, and every man scrambled for
cover.

A Mexican herder dropped his gun suddenly and slipped down behind a
rock; and his _compadres_, not knowing from whence the hostile fire
came, pushed out their carbines and began to shoot wildly; the deep
canyon reverberated to the rattle of thirty-thirtys and the steady
_crack_, _crack_ of the rifle above threw the sheep camp into
confusion. There was a shout as Creede dashed recklessly out into the
open and the sand leapt up in showers behind him, but Bat Wings was
running like the wind and the bullets went wide of their mark.

Swinging beneath the mesquite trees and scrambling madly over stones
and bushes he hammered up the slope of Lookout Point and disappeared
in a cloud of dirt, but as Hardy drifted around the bend and floated
toward the whirlpool there was a crash of brush from down the river
and Creede came battering through the trees to the shore. Taking down
his _reata_ as he rode he leapt quickly off his horse and ran out on
the big flat rock from which they had often fished together. At his
feet the turbid current rolled ponderously against the solid wall of
rock and, turning back upon itself, swung round in an ever-lessening
ci